Orange Colored Sky
by WickedGame
Summary: I lived the same life every day. Coming and going. And then one day, out of the blue, I saw him. And then everything around me changed. 12. Birthday fic for Link Worshiper.


Title: Orange Colored Sky

Author: WickedGame

Archive: ffnet, mediaminerorg, anyone else just needs to ask

Category: Romance, WAFF, one-shot, AU

Warnings: Gratuitous use of old songs, sappy, fluffy, and totally without angst.

Notes: This was written as a birthday present for Link Worshiper, with whom I have spent much time talking about music. Beta-ed by FantasyOrReality. The story Duo tells about Ella Fitzgerald in Berlin is a true story. The song was "Mack the Knife" and I have the mp3 of her forgetting almost the whole song.

Disclaimers: I do not own Gundam Wing. I do not own these songs: "Orange Colored Sky", "Fly Me To The Moon", "It Had To Be You", "Crazy Little Thing Called Love", "I'm In The Mood For Love", or "I'm Beginning To See The Light".

I have been working for some time at a computer company that calls a small suite on pier thirty in San Francisco home. I live in Berkeley by choice, and take the BART to the Embarcadero exit every morning so that I can get a good walk in from pier one all the way to my pier about a mile or so away. People tell me I am crazy, but I just think the bay breeze and the people watching is enough for me. I grab a coffee before I even leave the BART station, and I am just finishing it as I get off the train. It's the same every morning. Or, it used to be the same. Until one day when I got off the train and there he was.

Things were never the same after that.

I do not know how he knew that old big band standards were my favorite type of music. I do not know how he knew exactly what songs to sing to catch my attention. But he did know, and he did catch my attention, and from the first time I saw him I knew I was standing near a falling star.

He sat on the floor of the BART station, wearing ripped jeans and a faded Led Zeppelin shirt. His boots were worn but not to the point of being holey, and he did not look cold or hungry. He was slim, but more like he was wiry than skinny. His skin was ivory-toned and his eyes were this violent violet that made me weak in the knees, surrounded by sooty lashes that fell like crescent moons on his cheeks. But you know what drew everyone's gaze? His hair. This long braid of hair that resembled an in-between color of fall leaves. It trailed on the ground behind him, that's how long it was.

I nearly fell over my own feet the first time I saw him. He was singing Etta James that day:

"I was walking along,

minding my business,

When out of an orange-colored sky,

Flash! Bam! Alakazam!

Wonderful you came by.

I was humming a tune,

drinking in sunshine,

When out of that orange-colored view

Wham! Bam! Alakazam!

I got a look at you…"

I looked at him, amazed that something so sweet could come out of such a sensual mouth. Rosy lips that were slicked with saliva formed the words, and I wanted to kiss that lovely mouth. Instead I stood and listened to him sing until I knew I would be late. I threw the largest bill I had in my wallet (a twenty) into his guitar case and then I walked away, humming Etta James for the rest of the day.

&&&

The next day I left earlier, hoping to catch him before I went to work. The coffee shop was slow and I ended up getting there no earlier. That day the tune was Frank Sinatra, and I stood nearby to listen as his sweet baritone filled the air. Other people gathered too, but they did not even seem to exist. In my mind it was only he and I sitting there in that BART station.

"Fly me to the moon

And let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like

On Jupiter and Mars

In other words hold my hand

In other words darling kiss me

Fill my life with song

And let me sing forevermore

You are all I hope for

All I worship and adore

In other words please be true

In other words I love you…"

In my mind he was singing these words to me. In my mind he was wooing me with song and I was falling hard. But hell, I was just a computer programmer who lived in a small flat in Berkeley. What the hell could this bohemian artist have wanted with someone like me?

My breath caught as he looked up and winked at me.

Since when had I become so weak that a wink rendered me incapable of moving? I was raised to be strong, yet the words he sang made me weak. He made me weak. I wondered, was being weak so bad?

I took a parting look at his profile as I climbed the stairs out of the train station. I convinced myself that weakness couldn't be so bad if it meant having him wink at me again.

&&&

I swore I was going to say something to him the next day. I really did. I was not going to be so weak around him that I could not say hello. But I was running late and I only had time to stop for one second to hear what song he was singing before I had to rush off to the office. As it was I was probably going to have to run down the piers. I smiled briefly as I realized the song he was singing was upbeat and fun.

"There goes my baby!

He knows how to rock n' roll,

he drives me crazy!

He gives me hot and cold fever

then he leaves me in a cool cool sweat…

I gotta be cool relax, get hip

get on my tracks.

Take a back seat, hitchhike

and take a long long ride on my motorbike

until I'm ready!

Crazy little thing called love…"

He was right though. It is crazy. Love truly is crazy, and I find myself humming the tune all day while my co-workers look at me like I'm crazy. What am I supposed to tell them? That I'm madly infatuated with a street performer? Like that Etta James song it was wam, bam, alakazam? All it took was one look and I knew? They would have me locked up and there were moments when I truly did not care if they did. I went and saw my boss that day. I asked for Friday off. There was something I needed to see, and something I needed to do.

&&&

Thursday I was more on time and I was able to stop for a bit while I ate a pastry. You may find it unusual, but the pastry was almost unheard of for me. I almost never eat breakfast. I bought a hot chocolate when I bought my own coffee that morning in hopes that he would like it. I boarded the BART and rode it into the city, once again amazed that I could feel so nervous about offering someone a hot chocolate.

And there he was, same place as the three previous days, strumming his guitar lovingly as he sang out Ella Fitzgerald.

"I never cared much for moonlit skies.

I never wink back at fireflies.

But now that the stars are in your eyes

I'm beginning to see the light.

I never went in for afterglow

or candlelight on the mistletoe.

But now when you turn the lamp down low

I'm beginning to see the light.

Used to ramble through the park

shadowboxing in the dark.

Then you came and caused a spark

that's a four-alarm fire now.

I never made love by lantern-shine.

I never saw rainbows in my wine.

But now that your lips are burning mine,

I'm beginning to see the light…"

I took a deep breath and placed the cup of hot chocolate down by his guitar case. He stopped strumming and gave me this look, like I had done something enormously nice.

"Thanks," he said as he took a sip.

"Looked like you could use it," I said stiffly. I never was good at starting conversations with people.

"I could. You have a nice smile. You should smile more often," he told me. I didn't even remember smiling. But then again, I did not remember doing a lot of things before I saw him.

"Thank you. I will try," I told him. I tossed a twenty into his guitar case and went on my way. I was going to be late to work for the second time this week. Soon people would think I was in need of a medical checkup, if they didn't already. Prior to this week I had not been late in the whole four years I had worked for the company.

The next day I had plans though. The mission was to sit in that train station until the braided man was done playing. I did not care how long it took. If it took all day, I would sit there and listen to him play for the entire time. And when he was done, I would do something else I had never done, I would ask him to come to eat with me. And maybe that meal would turn into many more meals.

Was I crazy? Love is a crazy thing. So maybe I was. But I thought for once that I could grow to like it.

&&&

Usually I get up in the morning and put on slacks, an oxford shirt, a matching tie, and polished dress shoes. This morning though, things are different. I pull on some jeans that I have owned forever. They are dark washed, and fit just right in all the right places. I never am one to compliment myself, but the jeans look good and I know it. I pull on my worn sneakers and then grab a blue t-shirt. I usually only wear the navy blue shirt when I am working on something at home, but it seems just relaxed enough to be appropriate for today. I pull it on over my head and grab my zip-up jacket before grabbing my backpack and heading for the door.

The train is a lot more relaxed this early. I left early on purpose. The point is to watch the guy play from start to finish. I stop at the coffee shop and grab two bottles of orange juice, a hot chocolate, and a very strong latte. I go quickly and I am there before I know it. He is not there yet. I set up shop on a bench just across from where he usually sits. I open a worn paperback and start to sip my latte.

Fifteen minutes later he shows up, and this look that is a combination of pleased and surprised crosses his face when he sees me. He crosses the floor and stands in front of me. Wordlessly I hand him the hot chocolate.

"Thanks," he says quietly.

"You are welcome," I tell him, glancing up from my paperback. He looks down at it and smiles.

"Ayn Rand? A little heavy for this time of day don't ya think?" he says with a toss of his head.

"Better than Tolstoy," I shrug. He laughs and it is just as musical as his singing.

"So, what brings you here this time of day and not in your work clothes?" he asks me, gesturing at my clothing.

"I took the day off," I tell him. He looks briefly confused.

"Why?"

I take a deep breath and say what I know I need to say, "Well, there's this musician that I have stuck in my head and I thought if I spent the day listening to him that maybe I would be lucky enough to take him to go get something to eat afterwards."

His smile is radiant, "Well, he would be most happy to oblige."

He moves back over to his wall and sits down, taking out his guitar. He sets out the case for the money people may drop and takes a deep drink of the cocoa. He tunes the guitar and starts to strum.

"Why do I do, just as you say?

Why must I just, give you your way?

Why do I sigh? Why don't I try to forget?

It must have been, that something lovers call fate.

Kept me saying: 'I have to wait'.

I saw them all, just couldn't fall - 'til we met…

It had to be you. It had to be you.

I wandered around and finally found the somebody who

could make me be true and could make me be blue.

And even be glad, just to be sad thinking of you.

Some others I've seen might never be mean.

Might never be cross, or try to be boss

but they wouldn't do.

For nobody else gave me a thrill.

With all your faults I love you still.

It had to be you, wonderful you.

It had to be you…"

All day long I was treated to song after song that I not only knew by heart but that people just seemed to stop to hear: Everything from Simon and Garfunkel to Billy Joel; even some Queen thrown in for fun. A Bob Dylan piece thrown in around lunchtime got people's attention. I went out and bought soup and sandwiches for lunch, and we ate together on the bench. After that he said he needed to move down to Fisherman's Wharf to catch the afternoon tourists.

"You wanna come along?" he asks me, looking hopeful.

"Yes," I tell him, never hesitating. He packs up and I hail us a cab.

"You don't have to," he tells me.

"I want to," I tell him. We ride in silence down to the wharf and I pay the cabby more than he probably deserves.

This time I am not sitting across the way from him as he plays, I am sitting next to him. I find myself singing along to another Bobby Darin song. Afterwards, he tells me a story.

"Ella Fitzgerald sang this song live in Berlin after world war two. She was in front of millions of people. The song was new at the time and very popular. She got up on stage, sang the first verse perfectly, and then forgot the words to the rest of the song. So she scatted and made up words to the rest of it. Do you know what? She still swung it, and many people, even today, don't even know that she didn't know the lyrics. They are so busy enjoying her voice that they never even listen to the lyrics," he tells me, and I am amused.

"The moral of the story?" I ask him.

"That sometimes playing it by ear is the best way to go," he smiles at me and I know he is talking about more than Ella's mistake.

Duo tells me he is done when the tourists are starting to head home. It is about five in the afternoon I think.

"Do you have dinner plans?" I ask him.

"I do now," he tells me, "But first, I need to go back to my apartment in Berkeley and get changed and take a shower. Is that going to be too much time?"

I nearly laugh out loud, "You live in Berkeley?"

"Why are you laughing?" he asks me, looking a little defensive.

"Because for once the coincidences are lining up on my side," I tell him, and he looks perplexed, "I live in Berkeley."

"Ahhhhh. I see. I have this urge for pizza. You want pizza?" he asks me as we begin to walk.

"I have to tell you something. My name is Heero Yuy. I live in Berkeley. I work for a computer company. I graduated from UC Berkeley with a degree in computer sciences. I hate wearing ties but I do it anyways. I have no brothers, no sisters, and my mom and dad are dead."

"Pleasure to meet you, Heero Yuy. My name is Duo Maxwell. I live in Berkeley. I graduated from UC Berkeley with a degree in English. I hated school even though I did well, I hate working for anyone but myself, and I work as a street performer because I'm damned good at it. I have no brothers and no sisters, and my mom and dad are also dead."

"We went all day without names," I point out to him, in case he doesn't remember.

"Yes, but if I am going to bring you home with me then I definitely am due a name," he teases.

"Duo," I try it out. It sounds right.

"Heero," he says, and his voice saying my name is unbearably sweet.

We did go back to his apartment, and then out to pizza. Over pepperoni and sausage pizza we talked about anything and everything. Afterwards we walked down the streets until everyone had gone home and then we ended up back at his doorstep. I think the moment is going to be awkward as he opens his door, but then he turns to me.

"I'm in the mood for love simply because you're near me.

Funny but when you're near me I'm in the mood for love.

Heaven is in your eyes bright as the stars we're under.

Or is it any wonder I'm in the mood for love.

Why stop to think of whether this little dream might fade.

We put our hearts together, now we are one. I'm not afraid.

If there's a cloud above, if it should rain we'll let it.

But for tonight forget it, I'm in the mood for love…"

And then he pulls me by my shirt into his apartment while I am still wearing an enchanted and bemused look on my face.

&&&

A month later I wake up to the sound of him singing. Always singing. He is here with me more than he is at his own home.

"It's the weekend and he's up this early?" I ask myself as I rise from the bed. Clad only in boxer briefs I make my way into my living room.

I see boxes, odds and ends, and furniture.

"Duo? What's with the boxes?"

"Well, I just thought that since you never bothered to ask me, and since I find that I'm so madly in love with you, that I would just move in with you without even asking?" Duo looks so cute as he says this to me. Wait? What did he say?

"What did you say?" I manage to choke out. He smiles and jumps on me, knocking me to the floor.

"I love you," he says from his position straddling my hips.

"You do?"

Why do I keep asking inane questions?

"One look and I yelled 'Timber'!

'Watch out for flying glass'!

Cause the ceiling fell in and the bottom fell out,

I went into a spin and I started to shout,

'I've been hit, this is it, this is it! I-T it!'

I was walking along, minding my business,

When love came and hit me in the eye.

Flash! Bam! Alakazam!

Out of an orange-colored, purple-striped, pretty green polka-dot sky!"

He always manages to blow me away with words. He blows me away with his voice and lyrics from long ago. I fell in love with him the moment I saw him, even if I had not known it myself at the time. I tell him so and he melts before my very eyes.

I'm not good with words. I never have been. But he is, and he has more than enough words stored up for the both of us. I don't care how long he stays, as long as he stays. I tell him my first thought about him that very first morning.

"I felt like I was standing near a falling star," I tell him and he blushes. I didn't think he even knew how.

"Did you make a wish?" he asks me.

"Not then. Is it too late now?" I ask him.

"It's never too late to wish," he tells me, and I believe him.

-The End-


End file.
